


the end is unknown, but I think I'm ready (as long as you're with me)

by brittandsanforever



Series: Brittana: the scenes that could’ve been [4]
Category: Brittana - Fandom, Glee
Genre: F/F, brittana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittandsanforever/pseuds/brittandsanforever
Summary: Brittany’s finally ready to put her Santana Lopez Lesbian Intervention plan into action. Part one of three works detailing the events of Sexy (2x15).
Relationships: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Series: Brittana: the scenes that could’ve been [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936897
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	the end is unknown, but I think I'm ready (as long as you're with me)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is lyrics from The xx's Angels.

After everything that happened at Rachel’s party, and all of the emotions that had been kicked up and brought to the surface, Brittany knew she needed to talk to Santana. The thing is, Brittany was more likely to see a unicorn than to get Santana Lopez to _talk_ about _feelings_. But they were now at a breaking point, a crossroads, and it felt like there were only one of two scenarios that could happen: she could finally get Santana to _talk_ and they could fix _everything_ , or they _wouldn’t_ talk despite all the things that needed to be said, and things would _never_ be the same again. 

Brittany was determined to fix everything, because Santana was the _one_ person who never made her feel stupid, who made a boring day a memorable one with just a smile or squeeze of a hand, who held her close on bad days and let her watch as many episodes of _Sweet Valley High_ as she wanted, who was her number one fan in nearly everything she did, who looked at her when they were in bed together like Brittany was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, who ever truly _saw_ her and _understood_ her.

Brittany knew one thing: she _couldn’t_ lose Santana, so she needed some sort of plan. She was never really good at coming up with plans, and it was usually Santana, or Quinn, or even Mike, that came up with them for her. But she couldn’t go to Santana for this. And she couldn’t go to Quinn or Mike, either, no matter how badly she wanted to, because she didn’t want to betray Santana’s trust. 

But Brittany knew what Santana was, maybe she always knew, even when they were young. It was the little things, like the way her eyes lingered on the toned legs of various Cheerios in the locker room when she thought no one was looking, the way she _never_ really talked about boys unless she had a good reason to, the way she blushed and immediately flipped the channel when there was a lesbian scene on TV, and then of course there were her blatant obsessions with various female celebrities, such as Megan Fox and Sophia Bush and Mila Kunis and Jessica Alba (the list goes on and on and on). 

What mattered most to Brittany was getting Santana to admit it to _herself_ first, and then maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid to admit it to the rest of the world. She also knew that Santana _hated_ labels, and that words like _lesbian_ or _gay_ or _homosexual_ would trigger her to shut down completely. She started thinking that maybe they needed to talk to someone, someone who might understand, someone who might be able to help or at least guide them in the right direction, and someone who Santana might actually listen to. 

So that was her plan in a nutshell: _no_ use of triggering sapphic words, suggest that they talk to _someone_ (she’s not sure exactly who yet), and focus on helping Santana come to terms with _who she is_ and _what she wants_ (particularly with Brittany).

She was also dealing with something _else_ that she was worried about, too. Brittany had _never_ been late for her period before, and now she had been for over a _week_. She wasn’t sure what to do, because her parents had no clue she was having sex, and telling Artie when she didn’t even know if she was really pregnant seemed like a bad idea. Brittany thought about telling Quinn, since she’s the _poster child_ for teen pregnancy, but then again, she wanted to wait until she was sure. There was also _Santana_ , but just thinking about telling her made Brittany feel like someone was reaching down her throat and pulling out her insides. 

It was a Wednesday morning in mid-March and there were so many thoughts bouncing around her head and so many words on the tip of her tongue. Brittany was standing by her locker, lost in thought, when Santana came up to her, inviting her over to cuddle and watch _Sweet Valley High_. She wasn’t planning to tell Santana. Santana was the _last_ person she wanted to find out, but the words flew out of her mouth before she could even stop herself. It was like she couldn’t _not_ tell Santana. 

“ _I think I have a bun in the oven_.”

Santana’s eyes widened, waiting for Brittany to punch her in the arm and say “ _Gotcha!”_ but she never did, and there was an abnormally serious look on her face. Santana wasn’t even sure how to process the information, but when the words sunk in, she felt like she was going to hurl. All she could think about was _how_ Brittany got into this mess, how she _let herself_ get into this mess, and then she was picturing Brittany on top of Artie in his bedroom and the image in her head was just too much. 

Brittany asked her not to tell anyone, but that’s the first thing she did the second the blonde walked away. She blabbed it to pretty much everyone in the crowded hallway including Tina, Puck, and Mercedes and soon the word spread around McKinley like wildfire. _Another Cheerio (technically ex-Cheerio), pregnant._ Santana wanted Artie to know, but not from Brittany. She wanted Artie to know that Brittany chose to tell _her_ first, and not him. 

When she walked into the choir room after third period, all of Glee club was buzzing about Brittany, and she was sitting as far away from Artie as possible, clearly trying to avoid having _that_ conversation. Seconds later Mr. Schue waltzed in followed by Miss Holliday, who were together blabbing about how they all needed to learn more about sex, probably in response to Brittany’s pregnancy rumors. 

Brittany made up some _ridiculous_ story about storks, and how she thought she was pregnant because one was building its nest on top of her garage. Santana _knew_ that Brittany was well aware of where babies come from, and that she was just playing dumb to hide how scared she really was and in an attempt to diffuse the tense situation. It was something Brittany did a lot, and Santana really wished she would stop because it made people treat her differently, like there was something wrong with her.

After Glee club ended for the day, Santana followed Brittany out of the choir room and waited until the rest of the members dispersed.

“I don’t believe that BS story for one second, even if Artie did. I _know_ you, Britt, clearly he _doesn’t_. Do you wanna find out if you’re actually pregnant? I’ll go with you after school, if you want to get a test,” Santana proposed, knowing that it would calm Brittany to at least _know_ either way and then she could decide what to do.

“Okay,” Brittany said simply, giving Santana an appreciative look.

“Meet me in the parking lot after school,” Santana replied, squeezing Brittany’s forearm before walking off to her fourth period, leaving the blonde alone with her thoughts in the now-empty hallway. 

After school, Santana drove Brittany to a convenience store near her house and helped her find the tests. When they walked up to the front to pay, they were given judgmental looks from the cashier and Santana was ready to go _all_ Lima Heights on the older woman, but Brittany pulled her out of the store before she could. 

Once they got home, Brittany went straight to Santana’s bathroom upstairs, with the Latina hurrying up the stairs behind her, and then stood waiting right outside the closed door, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she held her breath. If that stick read positive, both of their lives were about to change _forever_ , particularly Brittany’s.

“Britt-Britt, you okay in there?” Santana asked nervously after about five minutes went by, and she was starting to worry that Brittany was stunned into silence by the results of the test. 

“Yeah, I’m just waiting, it says it takes about ten minutes,” she replied, her voice wavering, as she opened the door and walked towards Santana with the stick in her hand, trying to keep her whole body from shaking with nerves. Santana took Brittany by the shoulders and walked her over to the bed, where they both sat down together.

“Britt, when you and Artie….you use protection, right?” Santana asked tentatively, the churning sensation in her stomach making her feel nauseous. Even _thinking_ about Brittany being with him stirred something deep inside of her. She assumed that Brittany knew the importance of using protection, especially after what happened to Quinn. 

“I don’t know. Sometimes? I block a lot of it out, when we….you know,” Brittany muttered quietly, unable to meet Santana’s earnest eyes.

“Well I’m not surprised. I bet Wheels _sucks_ in bed, I mean he can’t even _move_ his lower half. I’m surprised that particular appendage even _works_ ,” Santana retorted, the snark in her voice evident, her lip curled back in obvious disgust. 

“It’s not that....I mean, yeah, he’s not _you_ , Santana. I block it out because when I’m with him all I can think about is _y_ —”

“Well you’re not pregnant, _thank God_ ,” Santana interrupted with a relieved sigh, eyes fixated on the single red line that appeared on the stick in Brittany’s shaky hand. Brittany’s arms wrapped around her suddenly and the blonde buried her face into Santana’s neck. The Latina squeezed her back equally as hard, communicating through the embrace _you’re okay, Britt-Britt, everything’s okay_.

“Thank you for doing this with me, San. I probably would’ve been too scared to on my own. Also….I’m sorry,” Brittany said with a small pout, refusing to meet Santana’s worried gaze. 

“For what?”

“I know how you feel about Artie. This was sort of like….rubbing it in your face, and if that stick would’ve been positive, I wouldn’t have held it against you if you never wanted to speak to me again.” The pained expression on Brittany’s face had Santana pulling the blonde even closer to her, and squeezing her even tighter. 

“You know that could never, _ever_ happen right? I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me stop talking to you,” Santana replied, her voice clear and honest, forcing Brittany to look at her by gently tilting her chin. 

“You really mean that?” Brittany asked sheepishly, her eyes wide and glistening, searching Santana’s dark ones carefully. 

“I do. And also, what were you trying to say before? About you and Artie….” Santana trailed off, hoping Brittany understood what she was talking about, trying to get her to say it again, because frankly, the Latina knew exactly what the blonde was saying before she interrupted her. 

“I think you know what I was trying to say, Santana,” Brittany said sternly, her eyes drifting hungrily to Santana’s lips, and back up again, confirming what Santana was trying to get her to admit. Something in Brittany’s now darkened eyes had Santana leaning forward and crashing her lips against the blonde’s with such force that they both fell back against the bed with Santana on top. 

Brittany’s mind emptied of any and all thoughts and suddenly all she could _see_ and _taste_ and _feel_ was Santana above her, around her, and moments later, _inside_ her. Everything else could wait because this was so _needed_ after a day like today that they didn’t even care when they heard the garage door open, indicating that someone else was home. Santana quickly got up to lock the door and flip on her stereo, some Maroon 5 song blasting loudly as she hurried back over to her bed and climbed back over to Brittany, peeling off the blonde’s top, sending her bra flying across the room seconds later. 

“I love this song,” Brittany murmured between kisses as Santana’s hands gently cupped her bare breasts, and Santana tried to guess the song from the first few notes. They locked eyes for a moment, Brittany’s ocean blues searching her own, and once she realized what song was playing, it only made everything she was feeling in the moment that much more intense. 

_Beauty queen of only eighteen  
_ _She had some trouble with herself_  
_He was always there to help her  
_ _She always belonged to someone else_

As the song played and they continued their _sweet, sweet lady kisses_ , Santana realized what Brittany had been trying to tell her in small ways through music all along. _Does she love me, too?_

Santana remembered all of the other times Brittany had said _I love this song_ , like when they were in eighth grade at a school dance in which both of their dates ditched them so they ended up in each other’s arms, swaying to Jesse McCartney’s “Beautiful Soul.” Like the time freshman year at a Cheerios sleepover after everyone else had fallen asleep, when they turned to face each other in their sleeping bags, noses brushing, as “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper played softly from Quinn’s iPod dock. Like the time last year when they were making out in Santana’s car in the Breadstix parking lot on a Friday night and “Yellow” by Coldplay came on the radio. 

Brittany had been trying to tell her all this time in the subtlest of ways, because she _knew_ that if she said those three words out loud, in the way she truly meant them, it would scare Santana off, maybe for good. They’d always been connected through music (they met in dance class at eight years old and were inseparable ever since, later joining Cheerios and then Glee club together), and Brittany couldn’t help but let Santana know whenever a song reminded her of them. Santana can’t believe she’s just realizing this _now_ because Brittany’s been doing this for _years._

“ _Me too_ ,” she whispered into Brittany’s ear before seductively moving down the blonde’s body and settling comfortably between her legs. She looked up through hooded lashes and was met with a shy smile and rosy cheeks, Brittany’s hands tangling through dark hair as Santana carefully slid lavender panties down the blonde’s endlessly long legs. 

An hour or so later Santana’s hands were combing through Brittany’s hair, both girls still buzzing from just minutes ago when they were tangled in Santana’s bedsheets, bodies wrapped around each other fervidly, sounds of pleasure filling the room masked by the loud music, since it was a rare occasion in which both of her parents had come home early from work.

Brittany realized it was now or never to put her _Santana Lopez Lesbian Intervention_ plan into action. She carefully reviewed the steps of the plan in her head and then gathered up all of the courage she had left to try and talk to Santana. As the Latina’s fingers gently pulled through her hair, Brittany broke the comfortable silence and told her that she likes their _sweet lady kisses_ but that when she’s with Artie, they talk about stuff, like feelings. “ _Because with feelings it’s better,”_ she told Santana, hoping the words would get through to her. Hoping Santana wouldn’t pull away or deflect like she usually did, that she would recognize that they _needed_ this. 

But her body immediately tensed and her guard went up, and Brittany could feel the whole conversation shift and there was a change in Santana’s voice from earlier as she snapped back, “ _Are you kidding? It’s better when it doesn’t involve feelings. I think it’s better when it doesn’t involve eye contact.”_ The blonde knew the last part was a flat-out lie, because all Santana wanted to do when they were in bed together was stare into her eyes, like she was speaking with them instead. 

_“I guess I just...don’t know how I feel about us.”_ Something inside Santana shifted when Brittany uttered those words, in the shy way she often did when she was afraid of getting shut down. Those words were so reminiscent of what Brittany said just a week earlier at Rachel’s party, _I’m not sure if I can do this anymore_. Brittany was trying to tell her that she was quickly reaching her end of the rope, and that she was seconds away from letting go, possibly forever. 

Her words also reminded Santana of the night after Sectionals in Brittany’s bedroom, when she let Brittany refer to them as an “ _us”_ for the first time, but hearing her say it now, after they still weren’t truly an “ _us_ ” three months later, triggered something inside of the Latina, and one of her often-used defense mechanisms kicked in. “ _Look, let’s be clear here. I’m not interested in any labels.”_

Brittany started to panic, going through the plan in her mind again. “ _Us_ ” wasn’t supposed to be a triggering word, it wasn’t on her list of sapphic terms she couldn’t use around Santana. But she had to move on to the next part of her plan because she knew Santana was already shutting down. “ _I think we should talk to somebody, like an adult. This relationship is really confusing for me.”_

 _Relationship_. That was the first time Brittany had ever said that word. That one word held so much weight, but it was _all_ Santana wanted and _all_ she could think about after Brittany said it. She wanted a _relationship_ with Brittany. Why had this been so complicated before? She _wanted_ Brittany, but not as a friend, and not as a friend with benefits, either. She _loved_ Brittany, which she’d finally admitted both to herself and to _Puck_ of all people, and she desperately wanted _more_ of Brittany, and not just her body, but her _heart._ And she _definitely_ didn’t want to share her with Artie, not anymore, she couldn’t.

But she also just couldn’t shut off those cursed defense mechanisms she perfected as a young girl. The funny thing was, Santana knew that Brittany could probably write a whole damn book about her defense mechanisms, since the blonde pretty much knew all of them by now. Brittany knew Santana was scared, so she played along when the Latina quipped back, “ _Breakfast is confusing for you_.”

Seconds later, Brittany’s phone rang, and she quickly answered it to avoid the silence that began to settle in the room. “Shoot, that was Artie. I forgot I was supposed to meet him to talk about….you know,” Brittany said, a guilty look appearing across her face, but she really didn’t want to leave Santana. Not when they were _so_ close to _finally_ getting somewhere. But Santana’s eyes narrowed the second Brittany mentioned Artie and she instinctively reached across her desk to grab her phone.

“And _I_ forgot it’s about the time I usually booty call _Sam_. You should go, Britt, you don’t want to keep your _boyfriend_ waiting, especially since you have _such_ good news,” Santana said smugly, although there was underlying hurt in her voice. She bent down to the ground and tossed Brittany her pink bra that she’d thrown across the room in frenzied lust just minutes ago. “Don’t forget _this_ , I think Artie might cream his pants if he sees you in _that_ shirt without a bra.”

Brittany wasn’t planning to leave, but she knew that Santana was _done_ with the conversation and obviously jealous, which is why she had to bring up Sam. She also knew for a fact that Santana wasn’t going to call Sam, and that he wasn’t coming over, and that Santana would probably spend the rest of the night alone in her room. But maybe that’s what Santana _needed_ , a night by herself just to think about what Brittany said, about what Brittany was desperately trying to make her hear, about what Brittany was proposing that they do. 

So, she scooped up her bra and her backpack and decided to drive over to Artie’s house, with nothing but a sad glance back at Santana who was sitting on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, presumably ready to “ _booty call Sam_.” Brittany had done all that she could, she’d executed her plan, and all that was left was for Santana to make a decision. Brittany just hoped that she’d make the right one. 

The second she heard her front door open and Brittany’s voice saying goodbye to her parents, Santana flopped back on her bed and tossed her phone across the room. All she could think about was how _sick_ she felt when she knew Brittany was with Artie, how it made her stomach churn and made her want to stick her fist through a wall. She pictured her in his bedroom, with his hands on her, his _mouth_ on her, and now she was about ready to throw up. 

The worst part of it all was that it was completely, totally, and 100% Santana’s fault that Brittany was ever even with Artie in the first place. Brittany was ready to be with her, and to face it all right by her side, but Santana pushed her away and into the arms of someone else, someone who was ready to give Brittany all the things she wanted, all the things she deserved. But now Santana was _ready_ , more ready than she’s ever been to tell Brittany _everything_ , and maybe Brittany was right, maybe they did just need a little help. 

The problem was finding out _who_ could help them. Santana got off the bed and started pacing back and forth across her room. _Mr. Schue?_ She immediately crossed him off the list because it’d just be too _weird_. Santana knew that Mr. Schue would _try_ to help because he cares, but it would be so awkward for all three of them and he’d get the flustered look that’s usually reserved for Ms. Pillsbury and make some excuse about how he had to leave but he hopes they’ll “work it out.” 

Now that she mentioned Ms. Pillsbury….what about _her?_ She _is_ a _guidance counselor_ after all, and her and Brittany were definitely in need of some guidance. But she knew Ms. Pillsbury’s solution to dealing with uncomfortable situations was busting out her extensive collection of outrageous homemade pamphlets, and Santana’s not sure she’s ready to be handed one covered in rainbows that says _So You Think You’re A Lesbian._

There was also Coach Sylvester and Coach Beiste….but Sylvester was still seething over Santana and Brittany picking Glee club over the Cheerios, and Santana guessed that Beiste was still upset with Brittany after the whole “ _Coach Beiste touched my boobs_ ” debacle earlier this year. 

She tried to think of someone else, _anyone else_ , and then she heard “Forget You” playing over her speakers. _Holly Holiday_. Miss Holiday was laid back, and open minded, and basically a _sex guru_ , and Santana’s sure she wouldn’t judge them or freak out or dismiss their feelings. She would be _perfect_ for this.

Santana hardly slept that night after spending hours pacing the floor, Brittany’s words replaying over and over in her head: _because with feelings it’s better._ Maybe Brittany was right. Maybe she’d been right all along. And of course it wasn’t that Santana didn’t _have_ feelings, it was that the idea of actually _expressing_ them and _accepting_ them that used to scare the hell out of her, that _still_ did. 

Now she just had to get Brittany to forgive her for being a mega-bitch, but she decided to deal with that in the morning. She fell asleep smiling and hopeful for the first time in months, knowing that tomorrow might just be the start of _everything_ she’s ever wanted. 

It was Thursday morning and the first thing Santana did when she woke up was grab her phone from the nightstand. She was determined, she was ready, she was going to do this. Her thumbs tapped away at her keyboard and she pressed send before giving it another thought. This was the time to _finally_ get her girl. 

S: _Morning Britt-Britt. I’m sorry about last night. Let me make it up to you by giving you a ride to school??_

B: _Ok, but only if I get 2 pick tha music._

S: _Deal. I’ll be there in an hour :)_

She thought that adding the smiley face was a bit much, but she was just so relieved that Brittany agreed. Santana knew that she hurt her last night, especially by bringing up Sam and then basically kicking her out before she could even put her bra back on. She felt lucky that Brittany was willing to give her so many chances, and she knew this might be the _last one_ , so she wasn’t going to waste it. 

Santana took her time putting on her makeup that morning (she had to redo her eyeliner _twice_ ) and picked out an outfit she knew Brittany loved. She spent extra time on her hair, smoothing it down over and over with her favorite serum until there wasn’t a single strand out of place. She wanted everything to be _perfect_ , and her mom noticed something was up when she came down the stairs and walked by the kitchen. 

“Mija…. _que bella_ ,” her mom said in awe as Santana walked by, eyeing her daughter’s noticeable cleavage in a slightly disapproving manner. “Someone in particular you’re trying to impress today? Is it that cute Puckerman boy? The Jewish one, with the…. _cómo se dice_ ….?” she asked, gesturing to her hair. 

“ _Mohawk_ , and no, Mamá, for the millionth time, Noah and I are _just friends,_ ” Santana replied with an eyeroll, watching her mom grind some coffee beans. 

Santana admittedly missed her mom, as the older woman was in Cleveland for most of the week and had been commuting back and forth for over a month now. She’s been wanting to bring up how New Directions is competing at Regionals in two weeks, hoping that her mom would be able to attend. But Maribel, of course, wanted to talk about _boys_ , the one topic Santana could care less about, and honestly wanted to avoid at all costs because it just made her want to scream, _No me gustan los chicos, Mamá! Don’t you see? Don’t you know me? I’m a lesbian! Una lesbiana! I don’t like Puck, I’m in love with Brittany, my best friend!_

“Okay, okay. I guess I haven’t been home, _really_ home in awhile….I miss talking to you, _mi amor_. I don’t even know who my sweet _Santanacita_ is dressing up for and sneaking out in the early morning hours to go see before school.”

“It’s _seven_ , okay, it’s not _that_ early. And I’m just….giving Britt a ride to school.”

“Ah, _Brittany_. The same Brittany who flew down our staircase like _un tornado_ last night and was choking back tears when she said goodbye to me and your father on her way out? Do you know what that was all about, mija?” Maribel asked, folding her arms across her chest.

“Oh, uh….it was just some stupid fight she had with her….boyfriend. That’s why I’m driving her to school, I’m gonna swing by the Lima Bean and buy her a coffee, to cheer her up.”

“You’re a good friend, Santana. Clearly I’ve missed out on all of the McKinley gossip lately, I had no idea Brittany had _un novio_. You two girls, you were always being chased by the boys, but never wanted a boyfriend. Looks like you might be next, mija….choose wisely.”

“Sometimes you don’t really get to choose, Mamá.”

“Can’t argue with that, _mi luz del sol_. I’d offer to make breakfast, but clearly you have somewhere to be. Tell Brittany I said _hola_ , and that we’d love to have her over for dinner soon?”

“Will do, Mamá, I gotta go.” Santana leaned in and kissed her mom’s cheek before turning around and hurrying out the door. 

She then drove to Brittany’s after stopping by the Lima Bean, steering through the winding roads of her neighborhood, her entire car filling with the rich scent of dark chocolate swirled with vanilla, heated seats making her feel warm to the bone. She turned the heat on for the passenger seat as well, so that Brittany would feel it as soon as she got in. Despite it being March, it was still freezing outside in the mornings, and she knew that Brittany had to walk her sister down the street to the bus stop, so she wanted her to warm up as soon as she got in the car.

She waited until she saw a flurry of blonde hair in her rear view mirror and sucked in a deep breath to prepare herself for what she was about to say. “I want to talk to Miss Holliday about, you know.... _us_ ,” Santana said nervously but firmly after Brittany greeted her as she got into Santana’s car, her voice unusually small. She refused to meet Brittany’s gaze and stared straight forward at the windshield, pretending she was focused on driving.

“I think Miss Holliday would be _perfect._ Aw, San, you got us coffee from the Bean?” Brittany smiled, reaching over the center console for one of the coffees, brushing fingers intimately with Santana, who handed her a piping hot cup. Secretly, Brittany was _ecstatic_ , and sort of in disbelief, but also so _proud_ of Santana for agreeing to go along with her plan. It felt like everything was finally falling into place.

They drove in silence the rest of the way to school, switching between the two lattes Santana bought (one French vanilla and one mocha because she knew Brittany could never decide and always asked if they could share). It wasn’t the usual comfortable silence that they were used to, but one filled with so much unspoken emotion and nerves for what they were about to do. Brittany eventually turned on the radio and bounced her feet to some Ke$ha song. 

Santana glanced over at Brittany as she danced in her seat, eyes filled with nothing but pure adoration and love, and she knew that although she was completely _terrified_ for what they were about to do, this girl sitting beside her was _everything_ and _meant_ everything, and that if she just got through this _one_ day, Brittany might finally be _hers_.


End file.
